This Is Not a Love Song
by Spooky-Girl
Summary: It wasn't love. It wasn't even lust. So why was he there? Why didn't he stop? Rated for sexual content and uncharacteristic actions.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer : Characters are mostly not mine. Ideas are. Don't sue, don't steal, and all is gravy! :) This is a bit that came to me out of the blue, and forced me, at gunpoint, to write it. I kinda like it. Review! Let me know...should I continue, or leave this as a vignette?

"There's something in your eyes that makes me want to lose myself in your arms."

He knew all too well that feeling.

When he looked into her eyes, so bright, so alive, he wanted nothing more than to snake his arms around her waist, and pull her close. Just to be near her, to breathe in her scent, to touch her hair. Maybe, just maybe, if he was feeling particularly courageous that day, he would trace his fingers along her cheek, stare deep down into those eyes, and pull her in, kiss her lips gently, passionately. Just as he loved her, with all of his being.

So why, of all things, was he here?

The bedroom was hot, stuffy, and dark. Too dark to see much, unless you got near the window, and the moonlight gave it's light to the scene.

He purposely stayed away from the window, away from the light, moving her instead against the opposite wall.

She was a pretty girl, and she knew it. Long blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a killer figure. She was everything every guy could possibly want.

But she wasn't her. Wasn't what he wanted.

So why of all people, was he with her?

Her hands gripped his waist tightly as he pressed her none too gently against the bedroom wall, his lips crushing hers, her tongue seeking his, hands roaming places he shouldn't want to touch.

She lifts his shirt over his head, and he returns the favor, her skin heated against his bare chest, and he doesn't need moonlight to tell that she's not wearing anything beneath that discarded shirt.

She pushes off the wall, and somehow manages to push him toward the bed. Somehow, he doesn't resist the sensation as he falls backwards onto someone else's sheets. Doesn't resist as she straddles him at the waist and runs her hands up his chest before leaning her body over his.

His hands go to her waist, fingers through her belt loops as she kisses a trail from his neck to his ear, and whispers, "I want you."

He doesn't want this girl. He wants his girl.

So why does he find himself turning the tables, flipping her onto her back, straddling her, kissing her?

His hands move from her waist to her chest, and his lips seek hers in a searing kiss. He hears her moan, and is aware that it isn't the voice he wants to hear. He moves one hand to the waistband of her jeans, undoing the button, dragging the zipper down, feeling her hands do the same, fumbling in the darkness.

This isn't him, but he doesn't stop.

It isn't her, but he doesn't stop.

He wishes he had drank some of the liquor his friends had supplied. Wishes his head wasn't so clear, his thoughts so precise, he so acutely aware of exactly who this girl was and wasn't. Wishes he could blame the alcohol, write it off as clouded judgment, forget it ever happened at all, or God, stop it all together.

So why, why doesn't he stop?

Why does she have to moan like that, like this is just what she wanted, like he is the man of her dreams when they both know he is not? Why doesn't he resist her wandering hands, her tongue, her body?

Why isn't he enjoying this?

Afterwards, lying in someone else's bed in someone else's house, with someone else's girl, he shuts his eyes and tries to forget.

Afterwards, she turns to him, and rests her head on his chest, stroking his arm, and smiling.

"Was it good for you, baby?" she murmurs in what she thinks is a sultry, can't-resist-me tone.

In the moonlight, he can see her face, see who she isn't, and he wants to cry.

He responds with a kiss, because he can't trust his voice not to break.

Her eyes are brown, and half-lidded, because she thinks it makes her look sexy. He wanted nothing more than to push her away, get out of her arms, get out of that house, away from that girl who is not his girl.

"I love you," she whispers into his ear.

You don't even know me, he wants to say.

"I love you, too," he says quietly, hating himself with every fiber of his being.

Travis Strong hated liars.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer/notes: Still not mine. Also, I know this is out of character for Travis. And I never really would have pictured him doing that with someone he didn't love either... but that's a part of this story for a reason. :) Also, I'm not using her name, not because I want to let you fill it in, though you can use who you want for now, lol. It's purposely vague because this to him, she is The Girl. Also, don't focus so much on who he did the deed with. Probably it was just some random girl. ;) And because of some of the OOC themes, this is a future fic. Pretend they're all in college, yeah? Okay, on we go:

The night was cool, the air laced with the traces of winter blossoming, but the season was not quite there yet. Trees were bare, and leaves scattered amongst the earth here and there, occasionally kicked up by the wind. The sky was clouded over, patches of grey on a dark blue canvas. If he looked down, he could see his breathe puff out in front of him. Standing on the sidewalk, staring down the deserted street, no dog, no cat, no human in sight, Travis felt like the last man alive. Had it not been for the house behind him rocking and rolling with drunk and happy party-goers, he might actually have believed that true.

Sighing, he cast a glance at the bottle in his hands, eyeing the liquor disdainfully before taking a long swig. It burned going down, and left him feeling slightly nauseous, but he didn't cast it aside, as he knew he should.

He had never been much of a drinker in his whole life, but now he fell back on it, needing some way, any way, to chase the memory of the girl from his mind.

He knew he had upset her when he rolled out of bed, collected his clothes, and quickly dressed. That his "I need to go" was not an acceptable parting for the time they had just spent. It wasn't that he didn't care... he just had more important things on his mind.

More important things to try to drink away.

He chuckled briefly, and took another pull from the bottle he'd stolen from the stockpile the host had provided.

He suspected the girl would get over it quickly. After all, he was probably to her what she was to him. A nameless face, although an attractive one, sought out to talk, to kiss, to eventually fuck, releasing sexual tensions or unspoken desires, or something equally unimportant.

He laughed again as the liquor burned his throat. She was probably in there now, talking to another guy, laughing flirtatiously, letting her pretty pink nails rest on his leg, giving him that low, slow grin, and nodding toward the stairs.

Why had he gone with her? Why had he done that? Why had he told her he loved her? She may have been wasted, but he wasn't, and he should have shut his mouth.

Couldn't explain it. Or didn't want to try. What he could do was work on that last part. Drink away the memory of her skin, her kiss, her. Maybe trick himself into thinking he'd been trashed the entire night, the entire act.

The front door opened, storm door slamming shut, bringing him out of his thoughts, but he didn't bother to turn around. He focused instead on the tree down the street, counting the number of limbs.

"Travis?" a voice asked, making him blink.

He turned around.

Her.

"Hey," he said, clearing his throat.

"Rum?" she asked, her lips quirking upward. "You're drinking? Alone?"

"Thought it was time I joined my classmates in the wonderful world of getting trashed and partying all night," he said casually, tipping the bottle back and draining it of all liquid.

"Who helped you drink that, then?" she asked, nodding at the bottle.

"No one," he shrugged, tossing the bottle back and forth.

"Holy shit, Travis!" she said, reaching out to grab the bottle from him.

He tried to pull back, and as a result, the bottle fell to the sidewalk with a crash, shattering into tiny pieces.

"Fuck," he said, staring down.

"Swearing now, too, I see," she said grimly, bending down to examine some of the larger pieces.

He stood there dumbly, staring at the top of her head, taking careful note of the way her hair fell in a curtain across her face.

"Sorry," he offered.

She sighed and looked up. "Okay. Just, for future reference? When you're drinking for the first time, don't start with a freakin' bottle that big, okay? What was that, like, thirty ounces? Geez."

He poked a shard of glass with his sneaker. "Can't very well do that, now can I?"

"Why not?" she asked, standing.

"Cos then it wouldn't be my first time drinking. Right?" he looked to her for confirmation.

"Typical Travis," she said. "Could you stop over thinking everything and maybe tell me what prompted this?"

The best thing he could think of was, "You talk pretty."

This must have amused her, because she laughed. Really threw her head back and laughed.

When she finally calmed down, she shook her head at him. "You're one of a kind."

Was that a good thing? he wondered. He wanted to have said something deep, intelligent, philosophical. His mouth betrayed him. He hoped she didn't know where that mouth had been.

"So, spill," she said. "What's with the sudden drinking of a non-social variety?"

He stood there, hands hanging at his sides, feeling like the stupidest man alive, fumbling for an answer.

"I...don't know," he answered, aware of how lame his response was.

"Well, what do you know, Travis?" she asked suddenly fixing him with an intense glare.

_I know I just slept with some girl I barely know. Some girl who probably has a boyfriend. Some girl who wasn't you._

"I..."

She smiled sadly. "You don't know, right?"

He shook his head.

"You know, for once you don't have something to say," she said thoughtfully. "No quote, no chunk of enlightenment, no explanation. No nothing."

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What could he say?

"I'm gonna head back inside," she said. "Why don't you come with me?"

He wanted to shout yes, take her hand, follow her inside, but something made him shake his head.

"I'm just gonna hang here."

"'Kay," she said, looking a bit disappointed. "Suit yourself."

He watched her go, until the front door was shut, and then cursed himself silently for the next few minutes. This time, he was dead set on blaming the alcohol.

With a sigh, he turned back toward the street, and began counting branches.


	3. Chapter Three

Yo and hello, again! Here's part three...it started off blah, but I like where it ended up. Bit of back story here, but stubborn me still won't give it away! I was gonna wait until I got a 20th review...but...well...I'm antsy!

--

She wasn't just a girl. She was The Girl. Throughout his entire four years of high school, she was the only girl he wanted. Sure, he'd had girlfriends here and there, but they were always casual, and he never let himself get too attached. Not that it was much of a fight. They were silly girls with boys and make-up and parties on their minds. There was nothing beneath the surface.

Not like her... she was deep and thoughtful and caring. She was as smart as she was beautiful, and she was very, very beautiful. She was...perfect.

Of course, he wasn't the only one to think so.

They'd started out as friends, and he'd had to endure countless boyfriends coming and going, each starting out in the same fanciful, breathless puppy-loving way. Each inevitably breaking her precious, fragile heart.

It had taken him years to get up the courage to ask her out. All the way up to senior year, and even then, it was well into the last weeks of school. Prom, specifically.

God, he'd been nervous that day. Palms sweating, heart racing, even during the morning classes, when she wasn't present. All day, running through his head, were the possibilities. She could say yes, and make him the happiest guy in town. Or she could say no, and crush him. Despite the less desirable possibility, he had stopped her in the hallway after school let out for the day. And despite his nervousness, he asked her...and he'd never forget the grin on her face when she accepted.

She looked beautiful that night...a strapless lilac dress, hair held up out of her face but cascading down her back in soft curls he longed to run his hands through. He still had the pictures her mother had insisted on taking; the two of them posed outside her house. They were sitting on a wooden bench in front of a large oak tree. She was grinning, looking directly into the camera, and he was regarding her with the softest of smiles, their hands clasped together, resting on her thigh.

Travis sighed, lost in his memories, and took a long gulp of the beer he'd acquired. Swallowing, he paused, trying to remember just where he'd gotten the bottle. Deciding it didn't really matter, he took another swig, trying to ignore how unsteady his steps had become.

It was amazing, really, how easy it was to ignore his inebriated status, so lost in his thoughts. On the exterior, he was staggering, glassy eyed, and had he spoken, the words would have been slurred. But on the inside, his thoughts were clear, precise, and consuming.

The house was emptying now, in the early hours of the morning, but the music was still going, blaring loudly, the bass thumping. He could feel it, not only in his feet, his head, but in his veins.

The music had been loud that night, too.

It wasn't his favorite music, being played so the whole ballroom could hear it, all bass and nonsensical rhymes about living in the hood, and bitches and sex and drugs and...he made do. Seeing the grin on her face was enough to make him tolerate the music.

It was the first time anyone had seen him dance, and it was all because her body was out there with him, shimming and swaying, hearing the beat and responding to it's call. Her hair was out of place, her skin was flushed, and there was a glitter in her eyes only seen when she was at her happiest.

She had never been more beautiful than she was that night, wrapping her arms around his neck, swaying to the slow dances, pressed up against him, her breath in his ear.

He had never been happier than he was then, surrounded by classmates he couldn't stand, supervised by teacher's who made his life hell, in the arms of the girl he loved.

What had he done to mess that up?

Sighing again, Travis drained the last of his bottle, and tossed it to the side. It landed with a soft crash in the bushes to his left, and that was when he noticed he was again outside. Frost lined the grass and clouded the windows of the cars on the street, but he was not cold.

Staring up at the moon, her voice came back to him.

"Star light, star bright...first star I see tonight," she had rhymed, sitting on the hood of his car.

"What are you going to wish for?" he had asked her.

A smile played across her lips. "I was going to wish this night ended as great as it started."

He found himself smiling with her. "How might I help that happen?"

"You could kiss me," she said, her face suddenly serious, the moonlight reflecting in her eyes.

He stared into those eyes, and cupped her chin, tilting her head up slightly. "I would be honored..."

He couldn't forget the feel of her lips, soft and firm as they met his. Couldn't forget how she pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around him, stroking his back lightly. Couldn't forget the intense feelings that ran through his body as they shared that kiss.

To this day, he couldn't forget how much he loved her.

He felt dirty.


	4. Chapter Four

A/n: Here I go again with that crazy backstory! I think it sucks, let me know if you agree. Ten reviews gets a new chapter ;)

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The snow fell in soft, fat flakes, clinging to the ground in a thin sheet of powder. Everything looked cleaner, as if the white somehow washed away all the dirt and grime in the world, and with it, the problems that afflicted that world. It belied an innocence that wasn't there, a purity that existed only until you opened your eyes and started living. The streets were empty at the late hour, so the snow remained untouched by footprints, the streets melting into the sidewalks where no cars made tracks.

"Don't do this to me," he had pleaded.

The corners of her mouth, turned downward, were wet with tears.

"You're my baby," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "My girl..."

"I..."

He felt tears spill over his own eyes, the cold stinging his wet face, and he wondered if he should give her his jacket.

"I'm sorry, Travis," she said, looking down, kicking some snow into the air and watching it drift down. "It's just...it's not working."

"No," he said, shaking his head still. "Please, I-"

"It's too little, too late," she had said softly, toying with the ends of her scarf. "I can't wait around forever for you."

With those last apologetic words, she turned, and walked away. He wanted to turn, to run after her, but his legs refused to move. His right arm hung limp at his side, the other tucked safely in his jacket pocket.

He watched her back retreat until she was gone, and only then did his tongue loosen, his legs grow weak. He sunk to his knees, his jeans soaking in the frigid snow.

"I love you," he finished, pulling his hand from his pocket.

In his icy fingers, the diamond in the ring shone brightly under the streetlights.

"I love you, baby," he had repeated to the night air. "God, I love you..."

Returning to reality, Travis was surprised to find his cheeks wet with tears, as they had been that night all those years ago. He angrily swiped a sleeve across his eyes, and sniffled, trying to erase any signs of the emotional weakness.

"Travis? What are you doing out here?" a startled voice asked suddenly.

He turned around to see her standing in the doorway, surrounded by light from the hallway, giving her the appearance of an angel. His angel.

He smiled softly, but couldn't dredge up an answer.

Furrowing her brow, she stepped outside, letting the door shut behind her. Rubbing her arms for warmth, the angel walked over and sat down beside him.

"How long have you been sitting here?" she asked. "It's freezing!"

Another time and he might have draped an arm around her to share his body heat. Now, he just shrugged.

"Dunno. While."

Ah, short syllables. That was the key.

"Are you drunk?" she asked, peering at him thoughtfully.

He shrugged.

"Ah, of course. The rum," she remembered.

_And the beers_, he wanted to add. And the shot of tequila someone had passed him.

"No wonder you're not cold," she said, staring up at the moon.

"Are you?" he managed.

"I'll survive," she said, giving him a sideways glance. "Whatcha doin'?"

That pesky question again.

"'M thinkin'," he said finally, returning his glassy-eyed gaze to the sky.

"What about?" she asked, brushing some hair out of her eyes and turning a bit to face him.

Under her attention, he was nervous. What had he been thinking about? _Not love, not love, not love..._

"Love," he said.

She smiled and snorted a bit. "Love, eh?"

Dammit. He nodded in the affirmative.

"The notorious Lone Wolf, single for two and a half years, the man who never once in our two year relationship uttered the three words every girl wants to hear," she said, smirking, "is thinking about love. Wow."

Travis looked down at his feet.

She had no idea.

A fiery rage suddenly burst inside his chest, and he stood up too quickly, almost falling right back over. She rose, too, both in surprise, and to help steady him.

He pulled away when her arm touched his.

"Travis?" she said, her expression one of concern and confusion.

"You have no fucking clue, do you?"

"What?" she asked, his sudden profanity catching her off guard. "No clue as to what?"

"How much I love you!"


	5. Chapter Five

A/n:Well, here's the next part. Read, review, lemme know. Another 10 reviews, and we get a new chapter! :)

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His words rang out in the still night, echoing in his ears, and he watched as she blinked in surprise.

"Oh, great," she said, tentatively smiling. "A friendly drunk."

"No!" he shouted, his chest heaving, pulling away from the hand she reached out.

"Travis?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, this time I'm gonna talk. This time I'm gonna _speak_!"

She blinked again, her face scrunched up in that cute way she had of doing when she was thinking hard.

He shook his head, not allowing himself to get carried away in her beauty, in any aspect of her.

"Do you know what happened that night?" he asked, fixing his intense blue-grey eyes on her. "Do you have the slightest idea?"

"What night?" she asked, her voice small.

He knew she knew.

"You broke my heart that night," he said, his words suddenly precise, cutting. "Because why? You were tired of waiting for me to say 'I loved you'? Because you couldn't see just how much I did when you looked in my eyes? I've never been a conventional man and you know it!"

She stepped back an inch, her eyes wide.

"You have no idea how hard it is," he continued, "to grow up in a house without love. Hearing those words so few and far between. For a long time I didn't even think I knew what love was. Coming home to an empty house, hearing my parents exchange empty words, and hollow kisses."

She was biting her lip now, and he wanted to reach out to her, tell her not to hurt herself. Despite that, he found the words still spilling out.

"When I met you? I knew. I knew despite all that, what love was. Waking up and counting the seconds until I saw your face again. Holding your hand, touching your skin..." he took a step forward, and placed a finger to her lips. "Kissing you..."

He removed his hand, and stepped backwards again.

She blinked, and tears fell.

"We were together how long? And it was good, baby, you know it was good. We_ fit_," he cried. "We _fit_. I didn't want to say those words until I knew. And when I knew, I didn't want to say them until the moment was right. Perfect. Make them so you'd always remember them, and the feelings behind them. You'd never have to second guess whether I meant them."

He struggled to swallow, tears freely flowing from his own eyes now. "That night I asked you to meet me? That night in the snow?"

She was shaking her head now.

"The night you broke my heart?" he continued, knowing he was hurting her, wanting to stop, but needing to go on. "You told me you couldn't wait forever. To know that I really loved you, right? Couldn't waste your time in a relationship going nowhere?"

She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"I had the ring in my pocket. I had the words in my head. I had the greatest love of all in my heart," he said, thumping his chest with a fist. "I was going to ask you if you would do me the honor of being my wife. Of making me the happiest man on the fucking planet by promising me we'd be together forever."

"I should have told you then, should have stopped you from walking away," he said, shaking his head violently. "But I couldn't speak, I couldn't, and I let you go!"

"Travis -" she started.

"I should have spoken up before that, and told you how much I loved you," he cut her off. "But I didn't. That was my mistake. But don't tell me, do _not_ tell me I don't know what love is. Don't for one second think that I never think about it."

He sniffled, his voice breaking. "I think about it everyday. How much I loved you. What I could have done to make things different. How badly I fucked things up."

One step closer, and he could see her eyes, so beautiful, rimmed in red.

"Never. Once."

He turned his back on her, unwilling to let her see the pain in his eyes.

"Never once did I stop loving you."

And he summoned up all his courage, all his strength. This time he would be the one to walk away. He would not let her leave him again.


	6. Chapter Six

Next installment. Not very happy with it. Writer's block...ahhh! Lemme know what ya think, and keep those great reviews comin'!!

--

He now understood the appeal of the things he was so against. The appeal of losing yourself, and drowning your sorrows in a hazy, alcohol induced-stupor. He understood the release, the freedom of being able to say what he so desperately wanted, needed to say. Fire burned in his veins, fueling him with power and confidence he had never felt. The ability to lose yourself and ultimately, the ability to get some of yourself back.

With each sobering step he took, he came to realize two things. One, she had not followed him. Which wasn't really all that surprising. What could you say to something like that? Nothing, he knew, at least not just yet.

Secondly, it hadn't been as good for her as it had for him. She didn't feel empowered, or free of a burden that had haunted her for years. Now she was not only the recipient of harsh words, but she carried the burden lifted from his chest.

It wasn't hardly fair, and part of him wanted to turn back around and run in the he had just come from. Still, the saner, sober part of him carried his legs onward, an action he knew he'd be glad for later.

He needed something. What did he need?

Another drink? No. Though his head was beginning to clear, and he longed to forget the scene that had just unfolded, he was loath to use alcohol again, so soon after the first time as a coping mechanism. That was inviting disaster, addiction, liver disease.

He smirked as he walked, not knowing where he was going, or why it was so funny.

Losing the smirk, he touched a finger to the side of his chin, thumb to the other in classing thinking pose, musing. What was it he needed? Closure...did he have closure? Was that, yelling at her, screaming what he'd needed for so long to say, closure?

He wasn't sure. The walking dictionary, user of large and rarely understood words, was at a loss.

Was it closure?

He didn't suppose, but what could he do? There was nothing more he could say, it was up to her to take it from there. Wherever she wanted to take it, he would have to trust her, let her, deal with it.

But God, more than anything he wanted to hear he footsteps pounding the pavement behind him, hear her sweet voice call out his name, beg him to stop.

It would be morning soon.

He had no idea where he was going. His legs just kept carrying him in the same direction, and his brain told him they must know what they were doing. Just relax, Travis. Don't think so much. You always think too much. You always go off on tangents and no one understands you when you speak.

No one but her.

_Stop it!_ he finally screamed at himself.

But it was true. No one ever understood him and the vocabulary that got him a 760 on his verbal SAT. No one ever understood the riddle-like quotes he seemed to have for every occasion. Not his views on life, not his vies on death. Not his views on love or hate or religion.

Thoughts were screaming through his head at light speed, this and that, here and there. And her. Always her.

_Snap out of it_, he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. When he opened them again, he took a look at his surroundings. He was in the park, the park where they'd spent so much time sitting, talking, lying on a blanket and watching the sky.

There, in the middle of the park, in the wet grass, Travis sat down, folding his legs, feeling the dew seep into his jeans. He didn't care.

He focused his breathing. Deep, even breaths. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out.

_Stop. All. Thoughts._

These thoughts, these memories. They had to stop. He was driving himself crazy.

_Stop. All. Thoughts._

Slowly, his mind became blank. Focusing on his chest rising and falling, the air leaving and entering his lungs through his nose, his thoughts melted away...

Until a hand clamped down on his shoulder, breaking him from his blissfully blank state.

His heart leapt into his throat and he uttered a tiny cry of surprise, eyes shooting open.

"Travis...we need to talk..."


End file.
